


The Impossible

by mrs_leary (julie)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/mrs_leary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the morning they would have started work on the sixth season of <em>Merlin</em>, Bradley calls Colin and suggests they hang out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Merlin RPF Challenge of 22 September 2013 on the merlinrpf LJ community.
> 
> I made the banner, using a photo of Bradley by Dale McCready and a photo of Colin in Mojo mode by Kevin Cummins.
> 
> Fic is actually 4954 words long, with various quotes making up the rest!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This flight of fancy has nothing at all to do with the actual Colin Morgan or Bradley James. And Dale and Kevin certainly didn't intend me to use their photos in such a context. The story is purely imaginary, and is not intended to cause offence.

♦

> … And who wouldn’t want that in their lives?
> 
> (Bradley, in a late–fifth–season interview, talking about the nature of Merlin and Arthur’s friendship)

♦

On the Monday morning in late February 2013 on which, by Bradley’s reckoning, they would have been meeting for the first read–through for the sixth season of _Merlin_ , Bradley called Colin. “What are you up to?” Bradley asked once they’d got through the initial _hello, it’s me, how are you_ stuff.

“Laundry. Reading. Research, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Typical Colin Morgan. No doubt he was reading everything he could get his hands on about _The Tempest_ and Ariel and Shakespeare and what have you.

“Just got back from Dublin – well, via Armagh. Went home for the weekend.”

“And Dublin was filming _Quirke_ , right?”

“Right.” Colin didn’t sound surprised by Bradley keeping tabs on him. 

“Gabriel Byrne, Michael Gambon … Pretty impressive cast.”

“Yeah, they were awesome. I reckon Michael could deliver any line at all and make it work. It was fascinating to watch him. He has this … great … gentle … authority.”

“And your mum and dad – everybody’s well?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine. Look, Bradley,” Colin continued, cutting through the chatter. Then there was a moment’s pause, as if Colin were rethinking what he’d been about to say. He ended up asking, “What’s happening with you?”

“Nothing much. Just thinking about … well, _Merlin_. We’d have been starting up again about now.”

Colin let out a sigh, but he said, “I know,” in agreeable tones, as if he’d been thinking about it, too.

“We’d have been reading the first block of scripts. Finding out what crazy things they’d have us doing.”

“Yeah.”

A silence lengthened. Then Bradley finally said, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out. Maybe come around to mine? Or we could meet somewhere.”

“I thought you were in LA!”

“I was. But it seemed like … Yeah, it felt like it was time to come home.”

“Oh.” 

Another pause. Bradley could perfectly visualise Colin’s thought–furrowed brow.

Then Colin asked, “The film –?”

“On hold. For now, anyway.”

Another pause. Colin didn’t ask about Georgia, and Bradley wondered if he intuited that he’d have received much the same answer.

Eventually Colin concluded, “Yeah, we should hang. I’ll finish this load of washing then come over, all right? Probably be about an hour, hour and a quarter.”

“Perfect,” said Bradley. “I’ll, uh –” _make tea, make coffee, make sandwiches_ … Other less appropriate ideas swirled round his head for a dizzy moment, and then vanished before he could properly examine them.

“Yeah, you do that,” Colin agreed with a laugh. And then he hung up.

♦

> I just remember Bradley refused to acknowledge me in this scene so erm we did a quite a bit of work.
> 
> (Colin, during the DVD commentary for _The Moment of Truth_ ) 

♦

Colin was as pleasant a man as the day was long – whatever that meant, though it must have been a damnably long day in this case – but he had no patience for small talk when he sensed that something significant was afoot. Bradley was permitted to reheat the kettle and pour the water into a teapot for Colin and a cafetière for himself, place the latter two on a tray with two matching unchipped mugs and a plate of plain biscuits, and take the lot through into the living room. 

He found that Colin was already settled comfortably on the sofa, about two–thirds of the way along, and his jacket was slung over a nearby chair. Bradley put the tray down on the table and carefully sat himself down halfway between Colin and the arm of the sofa. And then it seemed they weren’t even allowed to wait for the tea to steep and the coffee to brew before launching into things.

“So, Bradley,” said Colin in that rough low voice he used in rare private moments, “what’s really happening with you?”

Bradley gestured helplessly. “We can’t have a minute to talk about how long winter is this year …?”

Colin sighed, but indulged him. “Aye, there’s no sign of spring yet. Not a hint of a snowdrop, and the tree branches are still looking stark against the grey skies.”

“And not only are you waxing poetic, you’re still wearing ten layers of shirts and sweaters.”

That drew a guffaw from the man, who was really only wearing three layers – but then Colin observed, “Makes me wonder, though, why you’re nostalgic for the days of us freezing our arses off in Wales.”

“Well –” Bradley lifted the lid of the teapot and checked how things were progressing. He swirled the water around, decided it looked a good robust colour, and poured for Colin, then poured coffee for himself. “Well, it was a particularly happy crew, wasn’t it?”

“You know it was.” After a moment, Colin said very carefully, “I’m sorry that … you know, what with the film being delayed … you haven’t had the chance to work again. You’ve missed working with another team like that.”

“But even Tony and Richard said it was out of the ordinary,” Bradley argued, “and they’d know, wouldn’t they? They’ve got, like, a hundred years of experience between them.”

“Don’t let working with a great team spoil all the good teams for you. It was a rare thing, Bradley. It was a _lucky_ thing. Serendipitous. It’s not going to happen often, and it can’t be … manufactured.”

 _Ah!_ Bradley urgently shifted around on the seat so that he could face Colin. “You’re so wrong about that. It had everything to do with how Richard was, and Tony, and – and you. Richard and Tony, they were so welcoming, and friendly, and … relaxed. They set the mood for the rest of us. They made it happen.”

Colin was nodding, and watching Bradley thoughtfully. “They were extraordinary,” he agreed. “But they’re not the only people out there who are like that. You’ll find other teams you’ll enjoy working with. You’ll find other people you can trust.”

Bradley remained silent, frowning furiously over the fact that one – or maybe both of them – seemed to be completely missing the point.

“Are you not ready yet to move on, Bradley?”

He scowled. “ _You_ obviously were!”

Colin took a breath, and refused to be unreasonable. “It’s true that I was ready … to move on to other work. Other challenges. But I remember at the time,” he added gently, “you were feeling much the same way.”

Bradley didn’t answer or even acknowledge this. The last day in Cardiff had been like the last day of the last year at school: everyone had been giddy and excited and relieved – and sad and a little bit scared – and sentimental. _Beyond_ sentimental. They couldn’t wait to leave, and they couldn’t bear to go.

“I’m sorry you haven’t had the chance –” Colin was continuing. “Under the circumstances, it must make things particularly difficult.”

“What _things_?” he grumbled.

Colin had been slouched down against the back of the sofa, but now he sat up straighter, and said very directly, “Bradley, no one’s moving on from the friendship. Some of us are busier than others – but you’ve nothing to complain about there, after being in America for months. We’re all still friends, though, no matter what else is going on. _That_ was real. _That_ will last, even if the show didn’t.”

“I know that,” he said a bit scornfully.

Which he shouldn’t have, because that left it open for Colin to smoothly ask, “Then what exactly is the problem here, Bradley?”

Bradley shifted away to sit on the edge of the seat again, picked up his coffee with both hands and gulped at it. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I can make sandwiches.”

“I’m really not.”

“Fine.” Bradley gulped more coffee, his hands wrapped around the warmth of the mug. The clouds must have really accumulated out there, for the room seemed dim. Which was actually probably a good thing. Bradley very deliberately didn’t go switch on a light.

“Look, Bradley –”

In desperation, Bradley cut him off. “I was talking with Richard the other day, and _he_ said –”

“Were you?” Colin seemed surprised, but he immediately followed that up with, “There you are, then. The friendship is still there, as much as ever.”

“With me being in America, you see,” Bradley explained, “I’d be online at odd hours. And sometimes if he couldn’t sleep, we’d talk on Skype.”

“That’s great.”

“And _he_ said –”

“Yes,” Colin agreed with an ironic laugh. “I imagine we have Richard to blame for a great deal of this.”

Bradley stared at the man. “What on _earth_ d’you mean by that?”

“Look …” Colin began softly, leaning a little towards Bradley, with a piquant smile on his face. “We had a lot of fun that first year, didn’t we? When it was just the two of us most of the time, and we were mucking about. Reliving our childhoods.”

And Bradley couldn’t help but respond to that. He turned in a little towards Colin, and returned his smile, even though it was only in a small way. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It was grand. But there were still times, Bradley … there were still times when you shut me down. When you closed me out.”

He winced, and turned away again. Took refuge in his coffee.

“And it was affecting the work, Bradley.”

“Oh, right,” Bradley scoffed. “The cardinal sin according to Colin Morgan!”

Colin shifted a little closer, although he carefully didn’t invade Bradley’s space. “Hey,” that soft reasonable brogue continued, “I didn’t want that for _us_ , either.”

“Okay …”

“So I talked with Richard …”

Bradley cast a sharp glance at him to see if Colin was being satirical, but Colin nodded earnestly, encouragingly. _Stay with me here_ , Colin was saying – and Bradley nodded in turn: _All right. For now._

“I talked with Richard about the problem … and _he_ said that the only solution he ever knew was all about love.”

Bradley let out a breath as if he were winded. “No, Colin, I –”

“Let me finish.”

Another moment dragged by before Bradley could bring himself to nod again.

“He talked about this teacher he’d had at RADA who inspired him, Peter Barkworth. How he’d started a class one day by saying, ‘I’m going to talk to you about love.’ And everyone was all ‘oh yeah right’ at first. But Peter talked about how actors work best when they love and support each other, and he talked steadily on and on until everyone was listening at last. But after that first bit of scoffing, Richard had been listening all along. And, you know – it obviously went straight to Richard’s heart and soul.”

“Yeah …” Bradley breathed. Some things – at least the Richard part of it – made perfect sense now. “That’s why he is like he is. I mean, that’s what he gave us on _Merlin_ , isn’t it? Right from day one.”

“Yeah. He’s a generous man.” Colin shook his head as if he still didn’t quite believe how wonderful Richard was even now. “I don’t know exactly what Peter Barkworth had in mind, but with Richard it was all about creating this … this _honest_ space, you know? This space in which all things were possible, if only you could imagine them.”

“I get it,” said Bradley. And they shared the wonder for a moment.

But then Colin, being Colin, forged on. “I always thought we were a bit of an unlikely pair, Bradley –”

Which felt rather like being flayed alive.

“– but we _loved_ each other, didn’t we? I don’t know if it was a conscious decision for you like it was for me, but we _loved_ each other. And we ended up trusting each other _completely_. And that’s what made Merlin and Arthur possible.”

“Yes,” Bradley said.

“And that’s what made _us_ possible, too.”

Bradley was teetering on the brink, and terrified of falling. “What –” He had to stop and clear his throat. “What d’you mean?”

“Anything you want it to mean,” Colin replied. “Friendship, of course.”

“Of course,” he stoutly agreed, as if there had never been even the remotest possibility of anything else. “Um …” Bradley stood up, announced, “Think I’ll make some sandwiches, then!” and fled to the safety of the kitchen.

♦

> I always thought the show should end with a long conversation between Merlin and Arthur. A face to face where they’d talk about everything on their hearts and all secrets would finally be revealed. The last episode is like that. Colin and I were able to play all the nuances of the relationship between these two men that are the best friends in the world despite their differences. These scenes have been very emotional for me and it was a way for me to say goodbye to Colin. I love this guy …
> 
> (Bradley, in a late–fifth–season interview)

♦

Colin followed him, of course. Bradley was aware of that tall frame – a little more built now, a little less lean – propping a nonchalant shoulder against the cupboard by the door. Bradley kept himself busy lining up six slices of bread in two rows of three on the board, because he and Colin had always agreed that two sandwiches was too much for lunch but one wasn’t enough. Although he kept his back turned and his head down, Bradley was preternaturally aware of Colin watching him with a fond smile as if remembering exactly the same thing.

Bradley headed for the fridge. “I’m making peanut butter and jelly,” he announced as he collected the necessaries. “I’ve got your favourite peanut butter, too.”

“Why spoil it with jelly, then?” Colin asked with mild curiosity. 

“I always get your favourite now,” Bradley reflected. “It’s the best, you were right. But it’s even better with jelly.”

“You’ve spent too long in America.”

“No, you should try it.” He’d buttered each slice, carefully spreading the butter right to each edge like his mum had taught him – oh god, _years_ ago now. Some habits once learned were never broken. He was just about to pick up the peanut butter jar when –

– when there was a respectful hand at his elbow and Colin looming at his shoulder, and Bradley was gently yet firmly being turned around, and Colin was murmuring, “Let me just try this –”

– and Colin was kissing him, Colin’s mouth gently yet firmly pressing a quiet kiss to Bradley’s mouth – and Colin’s lips were as tender as lips should be yet they didn’t give an inch. Even as Bradley froze in surprise and confusion, Colin stayed with him – Colin stayed with him, the soul of infinite patience, not pushing any further but not withdrawing either. And Colin kept the faith even while Bradley lifted his hands to rest flat against Colin’s chest –

– perhaps Colin realised that Bradley half–intended to push him away then, for the sweetest assault began, with lips softly nibbling and then teeth gently biting at Bradley’s lower lip before Colin’s lips returned to sooth – and as Bradley’s hands clutched at the man, scrunching up one or two of Colin’s many layers, Bradley’s lip was suckled, tugged into Colin’s mouth for a moment, lathed with his tongue, and then at last … regretfully … released.

And Colin still didn’t withdraw, though he stood taller again so that while they were close so very close to each other the only touch was that hand still cupped around Bradley’s elbow. And they considered each other for long moments, fully dressed and yet utterly naked, and really it was too much it was too much, some things should remain as they were, shouldn’t they? And hell there really wasn’t anything wrong with friendship, especially not a rare and splendid friendship such as this one.

“No,” whispered Bradley. “No, I can’t. That’s just not me.”

Colin nodded, and he stepped back just a little, just enough, and he let his hand drop. His head went down, and he asked, “Because of Georgia?”

Bradley owed him as much honesty as either of them could bear, so he said, “No. It’s not that I’m not – free. She’s not – not any more. Colin, I’m sorry, I just –”

“Never apologise for the truth of your heart, Bradley James.”

He almost gasped then – he almost gasped with grief over what he’d just refused.

But Colin withdrew a little further still, until he was at a more friendly distance, and he said just very easily, “So, why don’t you make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then?”

Bradley’s voice was rough, but he said, “I’ll make you one–and–a–half peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“Perfect.”

And Bradley nodded, and that’s what he did.

♦

> No one makes Colin do anything he doesn’t want to.
> 
> (Eoin Macken or Bradley James, attributed)

♦

Later, Bradley made them more coffee and tea, and then they just hung out for the afternoon watching films on Netflix and talking. They soon got back to being comfortable with each other. They’d been utterly comfortable with each other for years now, and thank god they hadn’t lost that. Colin seemed perfectly at ease despite the fact he’d just been turned down by a man to whom he’d recently used the L word. They were friends, that was all. _Friends._ That was marvellous.

They were currently watching a film in which Richard Gere outshone anything either of them had seen him in before, and was looking sexier than ever in full Silver Fox Mode. There was only one aspect of it that made no sense to Bradley. He was being unfaithful to his wife. “I don’t understand …” he complained. “I mean, would _you_ cheat on Susan Sarandon?”

“Only with you,” Colin smoothly replied – and when Bradley turned to look at him, Colin winked.

Which had to be _the_ most perfect answer.

There seemed to be a run of US–made thrillers lined up on the Netflix account – for which Bradley would have happily blamed Eoin, but Colin didn’t seem to mind. Not that the next film was much to write home about.

“Awesome location,” Bradley observed towards the end. The final showdown was staged at an old theatre which had been converted to a car park, so it was this weird blend of a derelict structure and fancy plasterwork ceilings, with modern–day cars parked between concrete pillars under the crumbling glories of a century before. “This was actually filmed in Detroit, right? That is _awesome_.”

“It is that,” Colin agreed. Though once the credits rolled he followed up with the observation, “It seems a bit perverse these days to make a film in which _all_ the women die.”

“Yeah,” Bradley agreed, thumbing through to see what was next.

“I mean, they were quite good characters, too. Different walks of life, but each of them smart and confident. Making their own choices. And all three of them were killed!”

Bradley nodded, looking solemnly at Colin. He loved that Colin cared about that kind of thing, but just then Bradley had other things on his mind. “How long can you stay, d’you think? Are you up for a marathon?”

Colin tilted his head towards Bradley, and then twisted around a little on the sofa so his lovely inelegant sprawl became an even lovelier curve with Bradley as its focus. “Yeah? D’you _want_ me to stay?”

“O’ course,” Bradley replied a bit scornfully. As if anyone could doubt it. “I just thought … if we watch another one now, then it’ll be dinner time, pretty much, and if you have plans –”

For a moment Colin’s focus turned inwards, but soon he’d done pondering, and he grinned at Bradley. “I’d love to stay.”

“Cool.” Bradley tried to play it cool, too, but this great big warm smile welled within him, and he ended up escaping to the kitchen again to make more coffee, and Colin called after him to say that even he’d have a coffee this time.

And when Bradley returned to the living room, he found Colin loitering in the hall, quietly ending a conversation and slipping away his phone, and smiling with wry gentleness at Bradley when he saw he’d been caught.

“Did you just –” Bradley tried to remember the last time Colin Morgan had changed his plans for the sake of Bradley James, and came up blank.

“It’s all right,” Colin said with a shrug, as if it were no big deal. He sat down on the sofa, still a precise third of the way along from the further arm, and made himself comfortable. “I wanted to stay.”

“I wanted that, too,” said Bradley, in an unaccountably small voice.

♦

> … But as time has gone on, I’ve suddenly learned about all these endearing qualities that he has. Everybody was talking about “aw look Colin, Colin’s great”. But it turns out he is pretty special.
> 
> (Bradley, in a first–season behind–the–scenes interview)

♦

Bradley had a bit of a revelation then. It was incomparably awesome to have Colin Morgan as a friend, that was incontrovertible fact. This weird wonderful guy, this gentle manly gentleman, as full of fun as of wisdom. Sweet one moment, obdurate the next, and always fiercely truthful though just as fiercely private. What a great thing it would be to love this man and to be loved by him.

Bradley was hardly aware of the next film as it played out, and couldn’t have even named it let alone offered a critique. He just sat there, feeling kind of rocked, and sneaking glances now and then at Colin, who returned them with a fond smile that generously presumed nothing at all … and Bradley found that actually he wanted Colin to presume.

Eventually he said – probably with horrid timing, probably right at the climax of the film just as Colin was about to find out who did exactly what and why – Eventually Bradley said, “So … you kissed me before.”

“So I did,” Colin agreed with easy amusement and no apology at all.

“Is that – Is that what you want – from me?”

“Oh, _Bradley_ ,” Colin sighed. He’d turned towards Bradley again, as if drawn to him but too polite to push any closer. Bradley found himself turning toward Colin in turn. “You know,” Colin continued in quiet tones that were already nostalgic, already thinking of it all as something long past … “You know, I always thought that you and I were like the sixth season of _Merlin_.”

Bradley thought about that for a moment, but instead of guessing he asked, “How so?”

Colin sighed again, a lovely voluptuous sound, and the most self–indulgent thing he’d done all that long day. “Because I always figured … it was never going to happen.”

The pain stabbed through him, bittersweet. “But you said …” Bradley insisted, struggling with the words, with the memories. “You said … it was the love that made us possible.”

“As in the friendship,” Colin said. Apparently even Colin Morgan was feeling a little unnerved.

“I think … I think … you should try kissing me again.”

“Oh, Bradley …” The man sounded full of sorrow, as if he felt it were all doomed. Nevertheless he shifted closer, and lifted a careful hand to Bradley’s face, to caress him, to bless him, and then his mouth followed and Colin was kissing him … and it was just as beautiful, just as profound, with Colin so gentle that Bradley ached with it … and Colin had lost the fine edge of his confidence, and he _trembled_ , so that Bradley had to reach a hand to Colin’s waist, nowhere braver than that, to sooth him to steady him –

– and then for long moments Bradley wasn’t thinking at all, but only experiencing, lost in the sweet piquant pleasure –

– and it was still too much _it was too much_ , and utterly terrifying to wonder what the hell the sex would be like if Colin could reduce him to this warm wreck with nothing more than kisses – it was too much!

But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Bradley had always wanted the whole shebang, even though the thought of it scared him half to death – he’d been looking for it and afraid of it his whole life – and if he couldn’t make that happen with Colin Morgan, then Bradley knew he wouldn’t ever have it at all. This was _possible_ , Colin made all things _possible_  –

And at last something within Bradley turned all the way over, and suddenly he was kissing back with verve, and wrapping his arms around that masculine frame, and muttering something heartfelt and true against those beautiful soft firm lips …

Colin was raggedly saying, “I don’t know if I was meant to love you, Bradley –”

“You _were_ ,” he insisted though he hardly had the breath for it. “You _are_.”

“– but I _do_ ,” Colin agreed, from his very soul. “I  _do_ love you.” He pulled away a little to run a wondering gaze over Bradley, his hand following as if revering him. “God, this is the most _real_ thing I’ve ever felt.”

“You won’t go and decide _not_ to love me, will you?” Bradley blurted in a sudden panic. “I mean, not _ever_.”

“No …” Colin laughed a little as if marvelling at where he found himself. “I’m way beyond that now. I did decide to love you, but then it went so _deep_ …” And Colin seemed as awestruck by that as Bradley was.

“I’m not frightened any more,” Bradley said.

“And you needn’t be again, for all the rest of your life.”

♦

> There’s always hope, I think, in Merlin’s eyes. Despite what fate may imply and what destiny’s supposed to be. There’s always hope that you can change things if things mean so much to you or if friends mean so much to you. That you have so much … love in your heart that you can overcome the impossible.
> 
> (Colin, in a late–fifth–season interview)

♦

They spent the evening on the sofa, holding and being held, kissing and talking, half–watching films and wholly caught up in each other. Learning how to be together all over again, just slowly letting their minds and bodies catch up with their hearts.

Until eventually, around the time the Tube started running its last service, Colin said, “I won’t stay if you’d rather. If you’re not ready.”

“I’m ready,” Bradley answered, because Colin had said he needn’t be afraid. “I can be ready.”

Colin huffed a fondly amused breath. “We’ve got all the time in the world. We don’t have to rush this.”

“No, I think after five years … a bit of rushing is required. Anyway … didn’t you guess? … I put clean sheets on the bed.”

The breath became a happy laugh.

“I didn’t know why. Well, I didn’t let myself know.”

Colin pressed another kiss to Bradley’s already tender lips. “Take me to your room, then, Bradley James, so we can muck up those clean sheets o’ yours.”

And wordlessly now Bradley stood, and took Colin’s hand in his, and led him up to his bedroom on the second floor.

Bradley already felt naked in every way except the literal, but Colin still took matters slowly and steadily. He closed the door behind them, made sure it was safely fastened, and he had Bradley stand opposite him, about an arm’s length away – then Colin murmured, “Me first,” and just began very matter–of–factly stripping off his clothes piece by piece, all the while watching Bradley with a slight though unquenchable smile on his face. Watching Bradley watching him.

And really, Colin was perfect. As if Bradley hadn’t known that already. Colin had always been strong and supple in a lean sinewy way, but he’d been working out lately and the results were … Well. Bradley wasn’t so shallow that he didn’t care far far more for Colin’s inner beauty, but the fact of the matter was that if he was only to go to bed with this one man in all his life – and for the rest of his life – then Bradley was perfectly happy that Colin’s surface beauty was almost a match for everything else about him.

Once Colin was fully revealed, he simply stood there easily, letting Bradley look – and it was the first time _ever_ that Bradley had really allowed himself to look properly at another man’s tackle, and he did so directly, though he knew his cheekbones were a bit flushed. Colin’s beauty didn’t fail him even here, with a goodly sized uncut cock hanging heavy between thighs even straight–Bradley had thought were sexy, and his balls very respectable, too, and just the right amount of thick dark hair above. All virile and gorgeous – and apparently impatiently waiting for him, if that twitch of his cock was anything to go by.

Colin laughed low, and stepped closer, lifting his hands to the hem of Bradley’s sweater, saying, “Now you,” though he raised a brow to check that was okay – and Bradley nodded. Then Colin was undressing him, still slowly and steadily, and pressing a kiss to Bradley’s skin in return for each item of clothing removed. And soon Bradley was watching Colin watching Bradley, and Colin was drinking him in thirstily, like a man who’d spent the last five years in a desert, and as Colin murmured Bradley’s name he just _shone_ with need and love and appreciation.

Which was exquisite, but Bradley’s self–consciousness kicked in, so before it could get too bad he said, “Please –” and Colin replied, “Of course,” and then they were each getting into the bed, just naturally one from either side and meeting in the middle –

– and that first shock of bare flesh against bare flesh, heart against heart and cock against cock, was enough to send Bradley soaring, and Colin, too, judging by the way he gathered Bradley up close and began kissing him with this great … wild … intensity.

Their first time wasn’t spectacular, though it was the most amazing thing that had happened to Bradley yet. Colin was obviously trying to be conscientious, trying to focus only on making it good for Bradley, but he got so caught up in it, and that was even better. So it was all a confusion of kisses and their hands on each other, and the direct and honest thrust of one masculine body against another. It was gorgeous and mad and frustrating and completely wonderful – and in the immediate messy aftermath, Colin panted half–distraught, “Oh God, I can do so much better than that.”

“Ah, now you’re just showing off,” Bradley responded.

“Honestly, I can,” Colin insisted, though his dark blue eyes glinted with humour while still glowing with lust.

“Well, we’ve got all our lives, yeah?”

“Hopefully it won’t take me that long to get it right.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Bradley quibbled, as they settled more comfortably into each other’s arms. “We should all have at least one impossible goal to aim for, don’t you think?”

Colin gathered him up tight again for a moment, and said roughly, “It’s certainly worked for me so far.”

“And the only solution to reaching it is love.”

“Infinite love.”

Which was the most perfect answer _ever_.

♦


End file.
